The flight of a Crow Prince
by Exsanguinator Dominus Nox
Summary: Jago Sevatarion, first Captain of the eighth legion, the Prince of Crows, languishes in a cell aboard the Invincible Reason. He does not like it there, and nor does Altani Shedu, the young astropath to whom he owes his life, and more. Sevatar, no longer content to sit still and wait, plans their escape. Continuation from "The Long Night." By Aaron Dembski-bowden.
1. Still alive

First things first, listen to watch?v=2mwm1yCYiLc&t=56s

Also, this is quite good, watch?v=VaXrtOru0i8

He sits with his back to the crackling force field, eyes closed to the darkness of his cell.

In such an absolute blackness, eyes, he had noted with some sarcasm, are a rather redundant organ to have. A man was blind either way.

But Sevatar was no man.

And he did not need his eyes to see.

He could sense it all, his sixth sense, now a free talent, let him perceive not only the inside of his cell, but what lay around it, outside the walls. He estimated he maybe had a reach of perhaps fifty metres, though his circumstances had forced that number lower.

He had to spread his presence thin, so it would not be detected. Whilst he could feel none nearby, he knew one could easily approach and sense his wandering focus. And even if not, there were other ways to keep watch over a person.

He needed to be careful.

For now, he focused his efforts inwards, observing his right hand open and close, open and close, as his unnatural abilities let his hand slip faster and faster.

He had been doing that motion now for a period of hours. He should have felt something in his muscles, but when he stopped, it was like his arm was freshly rested, and had not been clenching and flicking open six times a second for the past three hours, sixteen minutes and thirty one seconds.

He grinned softly, as he perceived the motion of an armoured wall of a figure stir the air into miniature whorls, as he perceived the tremor pass through the metal deck and into his cell. The first time it had happened, he had pressed his air up against the cell wall, listening for the clang of armoured footfalls through the thick metal and stone wall of his prison cell.

Now, he merely followed the Astartes as he passed by his cell, paused briefly, and then strode out of range once more.

Checking up on him seemingly. He didn't seem too worked up, so he must not have found much of interest.

An understandable thing. Jago Sevatarion was many things, but he was careful.

He flipped to his feet, and paced his small zoo enclosure, before starting up his daily ritual of training, to keep himself in form. He did not have his armour or his spear, true. But there were many other ways to train ones own body and mind.

Truth be told, he didn't need to do many of the exercises, his physiology keeping him at the peak of his abilities, but he kept them all the same.

Good habits, he told himself, and all that.

He rolled forward, onto one hand, and raised himself up, feeling his muscles, now working under their own power, unaided by psychic means, heat gently at the motions he put them through.

He slowed, and curled down to the ground as he felt a subtle, but well known presence cross into his cell.

"Jago? Are you still alive?" The voice asked, in easy familiarity.

"I think so Altani, though I may be wrong."

The voice giggled lightly, and Sevatar smiled at the sound.

"Do you think you might be one of your shades, lingering in your cell?"

"Well, all this time in here, in the darkness, I can't exactly see if I still have a body, or if it's sitting in a corner somewhere."

"Can you not feel if you are alive?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it may be a figment of my, or your imagination, produced to keep my sanity."

More quiet chuckling.

"I will never understand you, will I."

"No one ever does, little one. It vexes me too. What is it you wish to talk about? Or are you just lonely?"

"I..."

A pause. Almost too small for an ordinary human to notice. But to Sevatar, it speaks a great deal.

"...I'm just so tired."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that little one. Tell me, what exhausts you so?"

"The commune. We've been practically working non-stop in an effort to contact Terra. Every time, the warp stops our progress, and tries to take us. We've already lost three of our choir, one just this morning."

He scowled. He had had an idea about the nature of astro-telepathic communications, and that they carried a portion of risk. Until now, he had joked at it.

But now, with Altani having to deal with such danger, the thoughts left a bitter taste on his tongue, and a sour mood, at his helplessness to assist her, as she had done for him.

"Do you want to keep doing it?" He asked, probing for a response.

"...No." She answered, predictably.

"I see. Now tell me this little one. If you could leave here, no strings attached, and go and live life somewhere else, would you?"

A pause, longer this time.

"Isn't that wrong though?"

"Little one, I'm not asking you to steal from someone, I'm asking you a simple question of what you want. There is no crime in having personal feelings." He said, with a slight chuckle to his voice. His was not a voice that naturally inspired feelings of warmth, but he made the effort.

"But the choir master and the legion say that abandoning your duty is heresy."

He reclined back against the wall of his cell, and let out a quiet sigh.

"Over my years of service Altani, I have met many very wise people. Prophets, iterators, nobles. Even Primarchs Altani, Primarchs. Do you know who one of the wisest was?"

"No." she said, in that soft, low, curious voice of hers.

"He was a pit fighter, from a legion of gladiators. He spoke to me about the nature of duty once to me. Do you know what he said?"

"No, I don't."

"Duty, is another word for chains. Duty, is the term made, for people to shackle others into doing their bidding for their own ends. Some willingly submit to it, for ideals of their own. Some rebel against it, only accepting the authority of those they respect. Duty is a fine thing in and of itself, little one. But it is not worth suffering over if the heart is not willing. Now tell me. If you could leave this ship, leave this war behind, no strings attached, would you want to?"

This time, she answers.

"Yes."

"Good. Very good. Now, where would you go?"

They stay like that for hours, talking, before she pulls away. To rest, Sevatar assumed.

And he was free to let his mind work.

He had a rough idea of how long the _Invincible Reason_ was, and a good memory of where his previous expedition had taken him. It would have ended at the ancillary hanger deck, seemingly a ferry port for shuttles for all kinds of transport. An acceptable exit plan, and an obvious one. Most likely guarded, and if he was to bring the girl with him, precautions would likely be taken before they arrived to mitigate the psychic abilities she might bring to bear.

Second option, spacewalk. He did not have his weapons, or his armour, and would need to retrieve it in any case. He did not know much about atmospheric suits designed for smaller occupants, but he supposed that some form must exist. The directional thrusters in his backpack were perfectly capable of directing him through space. He could make it to a frigate perhaps. A small craft, something that would not be directly noticed until it was too late.

No, that was silly. He'd need to look for ships departing of other reasons, and hide away on one until he could depart again.

He would need knowledge of the projected ship movements, and to know where his arms and armour were stored.

He would need Altani for both, likely. He wished humans didn't need to rest, but he wasn't about to attempt to rouse her. She spent most of her time asleep, but her mind needed to rest from its exertions.

But it left him time to plan also. He traced the steps he had taken in his mind, lining up a pathway from his cell all the way to where Altani had stopped them, and then the way to the choir chambers. He could use that path length to plot inside the bulk of the Gloriana class battleship, where they were both likely to be.

From there, he could make a guess as to where the armoury was likely to be placed. They were generally well out of the way of potential harm, considering the large amounts of weapons, ammunition and explosives stored within makes for a particularly bad day, when introduced to high enough temperatures, in the form of a macrocannon shot, or a lance battery.

Would his warplate be in the armoury? Would it be in storage somewhere else? He had no idea. More questions to ask the little girl child.

In his plotting, he almost failed to notice the approach of multiple armoured figures. Quickly, he shifted into the same lethargic positioning he had been greeting his captors with, ever since he had been captured.

The same mechanical voice comes from above.

'_Illumination_'.

He keeps his eyes shut, but can feel the area thrown into sharp light, and the barrier powers down with a crackle again.

"Feeding time so soon?" He says, greeting his captors with the same ugly smile and arrogant bearing. "Truly the service you provide here is the finest I believe I have ever experienced."

He does not need to remember, or even listen to them. He can sense them, standing there. The same two have their bolters aimed at him, as per usual, and the third has his bucket, as per usual.

It clangs to the floor, and he can smell the chemical un-scent of it wash over his nostrils.

"And with such exquisite dining no less. It just keeps getting better and better every time. It's enough to make a man question why the first legion is even in the warfare business at all."

He feels them chafe, but none respond to his bait, and in a few moments, he feels the power field activate, an instant before he hears it cycle up. Sometimes he wonders what would happen, if one were to rise to his bait.

No matter. Feeding time at the zoo. He eats slowly, not savouring the experience, but dragging it out to simply alleviate the boredom.

There was only so much to do inside a cage.

He experimented with the last few globules of the slimy paste, to see if he could somehow convince them to move around, to heat up, but so far, he'd had little luck on that front.

Altani had given some guiding tutorage, but while still being under such tight surveillance, he could not afford to practice openly.

Perhaps he also should rest a little, he thought. Maybe a little half-sleep, to let his brain power down, until Altani comes again.

Sevatar placed his head against the cool stone wall of his cell, and let out a sigh, before pulling his focus back into himself, and let his breathing slow.


	2. Planning an escape

"Jago. Are you still alive?"

He stirs from his semi-slumber, cold and sharp.

"Yes little one, still alive. How about yourself."

"...I've seen some better days."

"I'm sorry to hear that, little one." he said, taking note of the new tension in her voice. Not the tension of a broken spine, but that of a soul stressed past exhaustion.

He knew that sound, he'd seen it in plenty of people before.

"Altani. I want you to do something for me. Can you tell me where my arms and armour have been kept?"

"I-I guess so, but it will take a moment."

"Take all the time you need, little one."

He sat in silence for several minutes, before her voice came back.

"I've found them."

"Good work Altani. Now, show me."

Half speaking to him, half showing the images in his mind of where he would need to pass, she demonstrated exactly how to get to his wargear. It had been stored in a secondary armoury, where it hung from hooks like meat from an abbatoir.

Fitting, he mused.

"Is that helpful?" Her voice asked.

"Very." He answered, a cruel grin splitting his face, like that of a shark. "Now, Altani, here's what I want you to do. Are you listening?"

"Yes Jago."

"Good. Now, I want you to pay attention to what happens around your chamber. What people go where, to do what, at what time? Take note of when there are the least number of people nearby yourself, and the least number that are psykers."

"Do you want me to, escape?"

"Not at the moment Altani. For now, just watch, just listen. Can you do that for me little one."

He can almost picture her gentle smile, though he cannot hear it, over their shared connection.

"I can do that Jago. You know I can."

"Good. Now tell me, you mentioned a hanger deck. Is it guarded?"

Sevatar allowed himself to slump slightly, as they continued their conversation, before one again, she was forced to depart, to rest and recover, before her next attempt to contact.

His mood clamped down into its familiar cold iron, as he practiced his exercises, pushing his body into the most complex motions he could think to manage in his cell.

As soon as Altani could pinpoint the time she was least guarded, he would set his plan into motion.

He would not be able to make it to the Choir chambers himself. They would suspect as much from him, and would put guards in his way, if not inside the chambers themselves, to catch him as he entered.

Altani Shedu would have to make her own way out, he knew. Perhaps to hide herself in a vent or an air duct, until he could find her.

But that left a glaring issue for him. He could not leave before her, otherwise she would likely be guarded, and she could not leave before him, without drawing too much attention from the Dark Angels. So they would have to leave together, he mused.

But if so, would it be worth the travel to pick up his gear first. He knows how to kill Astartes without it, but even he would find some difficulty in traversing the hallways of the flagship of a legion.

But it would take time, precious time, for him to don his wargear. She would be at risk.

But it would be a risk that she would have to take. He could not afford to wander around the ship without it. Even his primarch would not find such a thing easy.

With nothing left to do, he goes over the information he has, taken in perfect memory, and plans his passage. Approximate time to arrive, how to sneak into the armoury proper, what ingress and egress points he could use in his passage to avoid the main corridors, and which could be likely used against him.

People pass by his cell, and Sevatar listens, visualising the energy and purpose behind each one. He considers briefly, the idea of using his acidic saliva to melt a hole in the wall, but reconsiders. Where would be the point? Where would the tunnel even go?

No, Jago Sevatarion decides, with an unlovely grin. He is the first Captain of the Night Lords legion. It is only proper that he leaves by the main entrance, like any of his rank and position should. The fact that there would be people in his way, only served to amuse him further.

When his captors came to feed him again, he greated them as he always did. Mockingly, arrogantly, sarcastically. But instead of focusing on wit, his attention, his true attention, was focused on their stances, their actions, their awareness. When the lights finally went out, and the barrier crackled into place, he made no motion for the nutrient gruel, instead standing, going through the motions of attack in slow motion.

Stand, run. Bolters come up, he drops down, evading their firing line.

Go for the closest, crunch hand into gorget. Other hand to a weapon.

Others moving to intercept. Throw their kin into them, make them stumble.

Bolt pistol. Bring up to fire, first shot to the other bolter wielding one, the next to the unarmed one, and the last to the one with the broken throat.

Bolter. Bring up to fire, flip to fully automatic fire, saw across the heads of both. Pan down, fire last burst into the face of the one with the broken throat.

Chainsword. First swipe across the neck of the unarmed one, then pass to the right of the one with the bolter, and cut through the more vulnerable waist joint, before reversing it into the head. Finish off the one with the broken throat.

Combat knife. Jam into spine of the one with the broken throat, then up into the brain of the unarmoured one, then a lunge down to the side of the third one, a jab to the waist, and a carrion smile to the throat.

What if the middle one was a psyker?

Well then, he thought to himself, he'd just have to hope it wouldn't make a difference.

He set himself against the crackling barrier of the forcefield, and pulled the bucket close to himself with an arm.

It's all a matter of waiting now.


	3. Calm before the storm

The bucket of chemical proteins now empty and discarded, Jago Sevatarion sits back, eyes open as he draws in his perceptions, sealing away his extra sense.

Not for any nefarious reason, or to hide himself from a passerby.

He merely wishes to experience the blackness of his cell with his own eyes, feeling its oppressive blackness wash over him like a shroud.

The experience of it all, he mused to himself, was considerably lessened when one could sense what lay inside it. If he was a lesser man, he might have just said it lost a special kind of magic. But he was not a lesser man, he was a Night Lord. He was the creature that lay inside its hidden depths. He was the one who watched the prey as it desperately peered out into it, hoping to glimpse his form, and yet hoping they would not.

So much could be said about the nature of darkness, he mused. Poets and iterators tried to capture its essence in tale after tale of its wrongness, of its corruption, of its base evil. And tale after tale got it wrong. Perhaps none who were not born of the depths of Nostramo would ever be truly enlightened of its nature.

Enlightened. That earned him a chuckle. Enlightened of the darkness. An irony if ever there was one.

But the darkness was not an evil. It was power.

Evil could, and often was, committed in light as easily as darkness. Oftentimes, the ones with money and power, the ones with the ability to commit such evils, were the ones who could afford electricity.

Could it be said then, that light was evil? He wouldn't know, he laughed. He'd have to feel it first.

No, darkness was, is not evil. It is power. Relief, sanctity, protection, the darkness hid a man from view. That man could use that lack of sight to do many things, for it was power.

A man could use that power to do many things though. He could use it to escape his foes, or beat a young girl to death.

Evil, Sevatar summated, came from the application of power.

But what application of power was evil? What if the man was a serial killer? What if the young girl was a serial killer? A complicated quandry, to be sure. Sevatar knew that his legion, and others often differed in opinions. He knew that those of the sons of Dorn, for one, almost came to blows over these differences. But who had been right?

Sure, the obvious choice for many lay in the honourable conduct of the Imperial fists. Proud, dignified, proper, fighting nobly against the enemy armies and breaking them upon the anvil of war. Wheras his legion hit indescriminantly of age or occupation, taking people and torturing them to death in the most horrific ways they could think of.

But for all their unpalatable actions, his legion had killed less then any other legion by orders of several exponents. There were compliance campaigns that existed in records with casualty ratings that were more then the entire number of those dead by his legion over the entire crusade. Which one of us was the real evil. Those men, women and children died in torment, but their screams saved millions, if not billions each. Millions of men, women and children who would live on, who would survive and leave their legacy in whatever form it may, and then die in peace, having lived a full life.

At least, that had been the original point of it all, anyway.

Evil, categoric evil, was a subjective thing, he concluded. And because it was a subjective thing, it may as well not exist in this secular, scientific world.

He laughed, a hard bark that echoed around his cell. And yet so much was built around the concept of good and evil despite it.

Some things, just escape categoric definition.

"Jago..."

All thoughts go, replaced by a blade of focus at the voice. She was in pain, more pain then before.

"I am here little one. What happened?"

"...It was waiting for us." She continued, her ghostly voice wavering.

"What was?"

"The warp. As soon as we communed, it cut us off, risked stranding us in the soul storm. I barely managed to get some of us out, but a good many didn't make it."

"I'm sorry to hear it little one." He tried to sound comforting, but the concept was unfamiliar to him. "But relax, you are safe now. Does this mean you will not be attempting to reach Terra now?"

"No. More reserves are being pulled. We won't commune for perhaps a day, but then we try again. I'm scared."

The words give Jago Sevatarion pause. He'd never heard those words before. He knew what they meant, but he'd never heard them. All his childhood he'd been alone, save for his Crows. Then in the legion, he'd been surrounded by only the toughest from Nostramo. Fear was already forgotten to them before they became astartes. Then, it was impossible. For they were fear.

But to hear her say it, reminded him that fear was a real emotion. One that people dealt with every day, and that for all she had done and said, she was just a little girl.

"It's okay little one. Tell me, did you do as I asked?"

"Y-Yes. I'm scared Jago. The reserves are not nearly as powerful or proficient as the others, and the warp grows more dangerous every attempt."

"Hush now. If all goes well, you won't need to enter the warp again."

"...What do I need to do?"

"In a few hours, I'm going to need you to pay close attention to me Altani. When my captors visit me again, I do not intent to stay here. When I leave, an alarm will be raised. As soon as it is, I will need you to use that mind of yours to get yourself out of there."

"But how Jago?"

"The same way you saved me. You have the power to stop twelve astartes in their tracks, one of which is a librarian, from half a ship away. You should have no trouble with the minds of men in the same room."

"But can't you come to me?"

"I will try, Altani. But I need to get my armour and my weapons first, before they are locked away, and considering my last little romp, they will likely send some interruptions with bolters up your way, in precaution."

"So how am I supposed to get past them? Need I remind you I can't walk?"

"You can get someone to carry you, or simply lift yourself past the frozen knights to a place where you can hide until I find you. Of curiosity, what ranking of psyker are you child?"

"They say I'm a Beta-Majoris."

He reclined his head. A Beta class psyker. The most potent a human psyker could be before suffering damage to the brain and loosing what little sanity one could claim. He knew astropaths needed to be particularly potent psykers, but a Beta-Majoris.

"Impressive little one. But now, get some rest. You likely won't get much chance in the next few days, so do so now."

"Okay. Thank you Jago."

"For what, little one?"

"For helping me."

And like that, she was gone, and Jago let his eyes close, and calmed his beating hearts in focus.


	4. The Storm

Several hours pass by, still and silent as the grave. His own breathing barely perceptible to even his enhanced senses, Sevatar goes over his predicted attack again and again, adapting it for minuscule differences. A different arrangement, different reaction speeds of his gaolers, a different amount of trigger weight to the bolter, or a difference in experience of the wielder.

He stands slowly, and eases into stretching, warming his muscles. Normally his power armour would remove such a need, but in the cold air, some physical preparations could go a long way.

Eventually, he feels her spirit return to his, watching. Not speaking, watching, until...

"They're coming Jago."

He reacts instantly.

"How far out?"

"A hundred metres perhaps."

"Check your surroundings. When I say go, you get yourself out of there immediately and find a place to hide. Nothing else matters, got it."

"I understand. Fifty metres."

"You'll be alright." He says, in a sudden drive for compassion. "Just stay quiet and hidden, and wait for me."

"I understand Jago."

He can hear them now. They passed into his senses long ago, but now he hears their bootsteps, and the tremor of their footfalls.

'_Illuminaton._' The same droning voice says, as he shuts his eyes against the glare, hearing the barrier start to fizzle and power down.

"Good luck Jago."

"Cousins! How nice to see you again!" He greets them in the same way as every time before, with a big blind grin on his face. Utterly disingenuous, and perfectly unlovely.

"It is not reprociated, I..."

In a blur of motion, Sevatar pounces, his coiled body, aided by the sum of his talents, vaulting off the floor like a spring. He cannot see them, but he does not need to see them.

He can feel them reacting, their hearts speeding their pulse into a hyperactive battle-state, but to him, they may as well be moving through treacle.

He weaves away from the gun of the closest, and rams his fingers in between the chest plate and helmet of the Dark Angel, punching through the weaker gorget by force of weight, and puncturing both throats.

His hand still inside the Dark Angels neck, Sevatar shifts his weight and twists, throwing the marine into his battle brothers, only now just beginning to turn to him, as his hand plucks the pistol from the dying marine's hip.

The body sends the both of them stumbling, but as soon as it drops, he sends a bullet into the middle ones skull, and before it even hits, another one into the furthest marine, through the eye lens.

And a third, into the first. No sense letting him live any longer. Unnecessary risk, and all that, he supposed.

The three bodies fall to the ground almost perfectly together, a heap of several tones of ceramite, plasteel and adamantium. All three are missing a good portion of their heads. He has to work fast. With centuries of experience, Jago Sevatar strips the bodies for valuables. Identification chips in the armour of the middle, a chainsword on the back of one, a full magazine of bolt rounds. Never know when three bolts might come in handy. He didn't have room for more.

He doesn't pause. Even with his advanced abilities, he had no time to spare.

"Now little one!" He yelled. He hoped her exodus would come more easily. He supposed she was able to help herself. She was a Beta-Majoris, after all. She should be exponentially more powerful then those in her immediate surroundings, and considering her ranking as second voice, he knew that no one could challenge her for power there.

She'd be fine. It was himself he needed to worry about.

Moving at a dead sprint, as he was, he estimated perhaps five, maybe six seconds had passed since he felled the first marine. If he was lucky, whoever was monitoring the group was a slow hand, and tried to contact the dead bodies, before realising something was wrong, and sounding an alarm. Maybe ten seconds to sound one. Another five to see who had escaped, and maybe another ten to give orders. He had used about seven so far.

He supposed it was possible that no one had been monitoring those marines, but he knew it was bad to bank on that level of luck. He knew better then that.

It had taken him nearly an hour to cross from his cell to near the hanger deck. The travel to the armoury was not nearly so far, due to them being on closer layers of the ship, to prevent easy access by boarding parties, and he was moving a lot faster.

At his current pace. He estimated he'd arrive in under five minutes.

Nine seconds. Hand at the alarm bell. Fifteen seconds if he was lucky, then a sizeable chunk of a legion would be hunting him down.

Fun times.

He almost made it all the way to the armoury without encountering resistance. There had been several crew members, but they were so slow, he was past them before they became aware enough to act. But of course, the armoury was guarded by Astartes.

Two of them, and two servitor controlled weapon emplacements. Heavy Stubbers. Normally nothing of note, but in his raw state, something to note.

Regardless, he aimed for the Dark angels first, sprinting as he went.

It was down a long corridor, with nothing to hide behind. No sense in just standing around to be shot.

He could feel a heady trickle from his nose, one that failed to clot over, as he pushed himself faster.

The first died to a series of bolts impacting into his upper torso and throat. Before he could shift, he felt the stubber emplacements shift, chambers cycling. It would be impossible to remove those with his stolen chainsword.

With the last two bolts, he passed a shot past the shield of each, through the targeting sights, and into the fleshy control system.

The pistol now useless, he threw it to the side.

The final marine was ready now, and bolt rounds spat from the barrel in a bloom of expanding gasses.

Sevatar had never appreciated the beauty of it. He had reacted to them easily enough before, but now he could see it move slowly enough to take it in.

The sword came up, as he shifted down, and batted the deadly projectile away. The bolt, seemingly incensed at this, detonated against the cladding of the sword, and Sevatar felt the weapon judder in his hand, mechanics ruined by the force applied.

No matter. Anything could be a weapon if moved fast enough really.

Another bolt passed over his head, and he kicked himself onto the left wall, then the right, and thundered down, slamming the now useless bludgeon against the armoured face of the Dark Angel. His feet left the ground as his back slammed into it, head rolling back. Sevatar pounced, and with force, dragged the tungsten teeth of the blade across the Marines throat. Blood pulsed from the deep gouge, and Sevatar spun for the dropped boltgun, raised it, and fired two shots into the face of the marine.

He would have stayed around to gloat, but there were others already searching for him, and in a few seconds, they would know where he was.

He sprinted past the doors to the armoury, slammed the big red lockdown button by the door, and fired a round into the control panel, and then into the locking mechanisms of the heavy bulkhead. They wouldn't be enough to separate them, but the single bolt would deform them, and make them much harder to open again.

Finally, he turned to the room, and with mechanical precision, blew apart any optical device he saw.

Only then, did he allow his breath to seep out, and his talent to fade from his body.

His nose was pulsing hot blood again, but he wiped at it, and it stopped.

His voice was hesitant, but he called out, "Altani."

A moment of worry, but then, "I'm here Jago."

"Still alive, little one?"

"Yes. Still here." She sounded near distraught, but that could simply be because she was afraid.

"Are you safe? Where are you?" He said, pushing into the storage room.

"I'm safe, for the time being. I'm hiding in a big empty tank, the liquid kind. I found it connecting from a vent. Looks as isolated as anything really."

"Good to hear, I was worried you might get nervous and freeze." He said. He confessed he wasn't good with humans like that.

"I managed. I'm so tired. Why am I so tired, I just woke up?"

"Don't go to sleep now Altani." He said, as she yawned. "You aren't used to the stresses of combat, to your heart pounding and emotions flying. Since you've slowed down, your body is telling you to rest, now that you are safe. But until I can get to you, and we can both hide somewhere deeper, we aren't safe."

It couldn't be of any benefit having spent most of her time sleeping either.

"It's cold in here."

"Focus on me child, and keep moving. You need to keep warm and awake and aware."

"A little bit hard to do without being able to walk Jago." She reminded him, in a voice caught between misery and terseness.

"Roll your shoulders, swing your arms and your waist, rub your legs. Keep the blood moving. In fact, roll onto your stomach."

He peered past a crate and saw it, his armour.

"And now what?" She asked.

"How many pushups can you do?" He said, before spitting on the lock to the winch that held his armour up in the air like a hanging corpse.

"Are you serious Jago?"

"Very, Altani. Keep yourself warm, and focus your mind. Do I need to count for you, or do you want to do that yourself?"

The mechanism snapped, and the chain thundered as his armour slammed to the ground in an unceremonious heap.

"I can count myself, thank you." She said, before a sharp inhale.

"Down and up." He said, and he chuckled as he felt her unvoiced irritation. It had taken her mind off the situation, and kept her warm.

"One." she said, accompanied by a light exhale.

"Twwooo." A louder, more throaty exhale now. For his part, Sevatar just chuckled as he started donning his armour.

"Thhhhrrre-ahh."

He laughed out loud again, and heard it echo loudly in the dark room like a gunshot.

"We need to work on your endurance, little one."

She only smouldered in hate. That petty, burning hate that only the young and innocent could know.

It took him a few more minutes to don his armour, and by that point, he could hear the hammering at the door. He clipped his spear to his back, and walked to one of the larger boxes labeled in big block letters 'FRAGMENTATION GRENADES', and kicked it open, fiddled with one, and placed it back inside the crate.

As a final action, he tuned his helmet speaker to a very particular frequency, and let out an electronic squeal. No true Night Lord didn't know that frequency. It was the frequency at which lumen globes shattered.

The room plunged into darkness, and Jago Sevatarion melted into it, as the door slammed open.

_Sergeant Delios, Terran-born, was first into the room, pistol following his eyes. The room was pitch black, and his helmet flitted between setting in less then a heartbeat, before settling on infrared. His squad, and that of Loris', fanned out behind him._

_A vox click, and they pushed forwards, armour thrumming quietly. The door, pushed by the false wind, slammed shut behind them._

_"I AM JUSTICE!" A voice rang out, and they stopped, panning their bolters up. The room echoed unhelpfully. The sound was almost as if it came from everywhere at once._

_"I AM JUDGEMENT!" A wave forward, a disturbed pallet._

_"I AM PUNISHMENT!" They reached the pallet, but nothing behind it. He spun, his vision flashing around, seeking to spot the sneak attack._

_There was none._

_He waited for the next line, but seconds ticked by, and nothing stirred, and he suppressed a snort._

_He could see what was labeled on the side. Frag grenades._

_Checking for tripwires, he opened the box. If the escapee had taken any of them, he needed to know. Any one of them could risk his entire squad. He needed a count._

_In an instant, he could see one was missing from the neat pattern they were stored in._

_In another, he could see the offending one was simply resting on top._

_In a third instant, he wondered why he would put something back, after going to the trouble to get it out._

_In the fourth, he realised why._

_In the fifth, he saw the counter was ticking down._

_He grabbed the deadly explosive and thrust it against his abdomen, turning away from the box and yelling at his squad to get down. They had been played, and if his body wasn't enough, they would all die._

_He didn't even have time to throw himself to the floor._

_In his last moments, Sergeant Delios felt himself overcome with an overwhelming rush of mind-blowing irritation at how easi..."_

Jago felt the ship shudder, as a rush of air hit him from behind, and grinned that same grin, Like that of one of Nostramo's eyeless white sharks, after catching a sizeable prey.

The ship should hold. It was a minor armoury, and it was reenforced to all hells and back. But hopefully, his hunters had not fared so well. And now, they should have no idea where he had gone from there.

But time was wasting, and he needed to find the small Astropath first. Before either he was found and intercepted, or she fell asleep.

Frail things, humans.


	5. Safety

There were scores of them now, he knew. Cordons were being planned, as the footage of his attacks were analysed and distributed, in all likelihood. Searching for clues to an attack, or a pattern he couldn't keep from his movements, he knew. Something to give them an edge, along with their numbers, weapons, positions and cameras.

It didn't matter. He had his armour. He had his spear. He had perfected the art of picking bolts out of the air with the flat of his spear, and his overcharged armour crackled in sharp arcs of energy over his plate, as the systems strained to overload the nearby lighting in the narrow corridor. He was running too fast for it to keep up, but he kept it on. It would give him space to work in, should he be slowed or diverted.

It also made him look less like an astartes, and more a vengeful monster, he knew. Granted, his nightmarishly bedecked armour already did so. But there was something about being shrouded in a crackling nimbus of energy, destroying the very surroundings with ones mere passage, that inspired something more then abject horror at the sight of him.

An almost existential dread, he liked to think. Though he admitted it might have just been egotism on his part. But egotism well deserved. He had already cut his way through two combat squads, and though his psychic powers were taking a very obvious toll on his body, he had cut through them all, only slowing on the second because they had learnt from the first and stood too far apart to reach with a single pass.

He had not been able to travel directly to the waiting child, despite her protestations. He had had to first travel to the crew hanger. He had to retrieve an atmospheric suit that she was capable of wearing, and if possible, something protective.

The ancillary hanger deck seemed good enough.

He hadn't even bothered to slow, before bursting through the doors. He had been of the inclination that speed was the key.

It let him survive the barrage, but he noted with ire that slowing down to investigate would have been a better option. The hanger deck, a large, open space connected to the outside, was armed with a predictably immense number of gun emplacements. Heavy bolters, stubbers, and some that not even he could identify.

And in the absence of combat risk, all had been pointed at him as he entered the room. His sheer velocity of travel had carried him past the majority of the gunfire, but several rounds had scored groves in his armour, and a lucky bolt nearly threw him off his feet. He would have liked to have something to shoot back with.

As it was, he simply had to outpace them all. His spear whirled around him, interrupting bolt rounds as the firing lines of the heavy bolters washed over him. He wasn't too fussed about the stubbers. He only needed to find...there.

An emergency pressure suit, sitting in a neat box on the wall. All sizes and mostly protective from a solar barrage. He didn't know if one would be in here, but he supposed it made the most sense, and had been rewarded. He wouldn't trust himself to one, but for the girl-child, it should do nicely. He tore it out of the wall in his passage, and reversed his motion to tear out the bulky oxygen canister with it.

A round clipped his foot as he sprinted to the exit, and he stumbled, bouncing off the floor, into the corridor. His chest hurt, and his brain throbbed, but he forced himself to roll to the side, out of sight of the hanger guns.

"Well." He said, sarcastic tone directed at himself. "Don't do something like that again."

"Do what?" the Astropaths voice sounded in his head, sleepily. "Are you going to be done soon?"

"All done little one." He said, trying to keep the strain from his voice. His nose was bleeding again, and he was very painfully aware that he was pushing his mind too far, in his desire to move faster. "Heading to you now. Don't go to sleep yet, I need you to guide me to you."

"Okay." she replied. He didn't like to think of what he would have to do if he couldn't access the small space, but in all likelihood, he would have to move her, and himself, to a deeper area on the ship. But that would be a matter for later. Now, he had to retrace his steps.

The passageway was dark, and with a single mental inpulse, Sevatar deactivated the capacitor circuit in his armour, letting the crackling arcs of energy dissipate away, as he prowled quietly forward. He couldn't keep pushing himself so hard, and now in his element, there was no need. Mortals stumbled past him, hands flailing around to the walls, keeping their path along the black corridor. Occasionally Astartes would thunder down the corridor. On those occasions, Sevatar backed into a tangle of machinery, and stilled his battle plate, letting them pass by, oblivious. Two patrols of many, he had had to kill, one of their marines noticing his form in the poor cover. The majority of them died quickly. One alone, had not, and Sevatar had taken the flaying knife at his waist, jamming it into the joint between right leg and hip. The fight had been much easier after that.

He looped off, backtracking and diverging as he reached Altani's hiding spot, disabling the lights over the entire area. As expected, he was unable to find entry to her hiding spot, but when he ordered her to come out, he had not been met with anything. Extending his perception into the air vent, and finding her, he noticed she had fallen asleep. Too much strain for someone so little, he presumed.

This had left him with the rather awkward task of hiding himself in the same area, to which he had removed a section of the flooring, lowering himself, and the suit, into the cavity underneath. It was only just big enough for him to lie in, with the flooring above him slotted back into its place. Too little space for his spear, he held it in the crook of his left hand, along with the suit, as his right hand held his knife at the ready, to throw, or to jam into an armoured joint.

Boots thundered over him, briefly cutting out the small slivers of light. He could feel them searching for him, following his path as he stilled his hearts, shutting down his suit, becoming just more cold metal inside the ship. After several minutes, they departed, and he allowed himself to breathe more easily.

He had broken out of his lightless metal box, only to willingly put himself in a smaller, lightless metal box. An amusing irony.

Hours passed, and he listened as the searching slowed, fanning out to other areas he may have gone, before it picked up once again, starting the hunt for hiding spaces. When they came around, he even held his breath.

Then they had passed, and the searching slowed, before kicking up to a steady beat of general patrols. That was when she had awoken.

"Ja-go?" The small voice had asked, groggy with fatigue. He guessed she must be less susceptible to sleeping on unyielding surfaces then he had been.

"Yes little one. Still alive. How about you?"

"Alive, I think."

"Good. Can you sense the patrols?"

"Of course I can."

"Better. Now crawl out near to me, I have a present for you."

"A-am I going to like it?"

"Why of course you will. It's what's going to keep you alive in the next few hours."

He could feel her trepidation at his tone, but he could hear her scuffling as she dragged herself out.

"Wait for them to pass Altani. Give us the most time."

"Right."

Two pairs of boots clanged past. Only once they were out of hearing range by a good three seconds, did he signal the okay.

To her credit, she barely flinched when he extracted himself from the floor, only being slightly perturbed at his armour. He could sense her judgement of it, in it's obscene offensiveness to most other cultures.

Perhaps it may warrant changing, he noted down, for a quieter moment, when he had the luxury of introspection.

At this moment however, Sevatar busied himself with helping a paraplegic girl-child into a pressure suit. One thing he'd never seen himself doing.

"Where are we going Jago?" She asked.

"I had thought that it would be evident. Outside. Now up you get."

She gasped slightly in shock as he braced her against his chest with his left arm, holding her in place. With a series of mind impulses, he set the pressure sensitivity on the pauldron to high, enough to avoid shifting and crushing her.

"Altani, I want you to stop anyone that comes near us, like you did to the escort back then."

She nodded, and pushed herself deeper into the crook of his arm, holding what few handholds she could get. For her sake of mind really, he took off at a slow enough pace, and accelerated gently enough she was not shaken too badly. Despite the running, she did manage enough to lock down those they passed. Sevatar took pleasure in dragging the edge of his knife across exposed points on the power armour of the astartes as he ran. A few had unfortunately found themselves in the wrong position, with their heads slightly too high, baring their throats all too openly.

Before they reached the hanger deck, he stopped, wary of the big guns likely aimed at the door. He couldn't run in there as is. He would possibly survive, but Altani would be shredded to pieces under the stubber fire.

"Little one." He kept his voice light, but serious. "Aside from locking astartes to the ground, and talking across space, what can you do?"

"Pardon?" She asked, not expecting to be adressed.

"I find myself in need of passage past a number of very big guns Altani. To do that safely, I need someway of avoiding getting the bullets those guns fire onto myself, or yourself. Now as I have no good ways to do this, I ask you now."

"I thought you had a plan Jago!" she cried, outraged. He understood that ire, but didn't have to like it.

"I do, and it is asking what you can do as a Psyker. Can you form a protective field around us?"

"...I don't know, but I have an idea." She said, and he felt her mind reach out.

"Okay, it's safe, go now." She uttered, eyes screwed shut.

He darted across the doorway, glancing inside. The guns did not move or react. He pushed in, crouching low, keeping out of sight of the naval guards and astartes patrols, before pushing into a boxy cargo hauler, lifting the ramp as he went. It was filled almost to capacity with boxes, likely components of some kind, for any number of repair details.

Useful, but irrelevant. He set the child down in the copilots seat, and let his hands bring the craft to life

A round pinged off the side of the hull, and then another, and another as people confirmed the irregular activity, and sought to bring the craft down. Sevatar wasn't about to wait around for them to bring out the shaped melta charged or detonator packs, and jammed the throttle out, letting the craft tear its way from the bowels of the ship, out into open space.

Below them, the blue jewel of Macragge sat against the void black of space, beautiful and strong and bright. He slowly eased the flight path down, eventually bringing them into atmosphere.

"Jago!"

"What now Altani?"

"If you put us on the planet, there's even more chance of being found. We'll be caught! Far more easily."

"You are wrong Altani. There are many places to hide on a planet. They're just so very big."

"But this planet is hosting several legions."

"It only hosts three." He said, in a false, mocking defence. "Hardly counts as 'several'. Besides, we aren't going to it anyway, so it makes no difference." He completed.

"Wha...? Then why are you taking us down there?"

"I'm not. This ship is. Why do you think I got you the suit Altani? This ship is being tracked, and ship cannons wait to blow us out of the sky once they fully awaken. We're getting off here."

He lifted her from her seat, and braced her against his chest, ignoring her questions and weak protests, moving into the back of the cargo ship. A single hand punched out, grabbing a metal valve of some kind from a box, roughly the size of his own fist. Jago Sevatarion weighed the object in his hand, tossing it a few times.

"Brace." was the only warning he gave.

Faster then he knew she could follow, he threw the valve at the primary control stick in the cabin, before spinning to open the emergency hatch.

Emergency detonator bolts exploded out an instant after the valve slammed the control stick, tossing the craft into an irregular spin as the air vented from the craft. Jago simply let himself and Altani be sucked out, thrown out by the motion, back up into a higher orbit as the craft spun and plummeted, before automatically stabilising its flight path.

He wondered if it would burn up or explode in atmosphere, or would it be caught by a defence laser, or a fighter craft.

"Told you Altani. We weren't going to the planet."

"Why did you do that?" She asked, stress evident in her voice. Poor thing sounded shocked out of her mind.

"Because at any moment, a Lascannon or a torpedo is going to destroy that cargo hauler. We managed to get ourselves out discreetly enough with that spin and under the cover of the cargo it carried. Now, we're just one tiny signature in a cloud of tiny signatures, rapidly expanding over the area in an irregular pattern. You can relax now Altani. We're safe."

"Safe?"

"Yes. Safe. The void shelters her children. Is it not beautiful?" His suit jets spun them around gently, until they faced over the shining orb of Macragge, gazing into the void beyond, tiny pricks of light, too small to focus on, dotted across it's expanse.

"It's incredible." She said after a period of time. "But how long do we have? I don't want to suffocate Jago."

"Enough time to get to where we need to go." He said dismissively.

"Which is where exactly?"

He spun her around, to face out, and extended an arm.

"There."

Briefly silhouetted against the void, attached by gravatic tow lines to a grand cruiser, he might never have spotted it, peering into the blackness of space with only his autosenses, were it not for the gold trim, or the enormous red winged skull on the side.

A Night Lords ship.

Sevatar felt his lips peel back into a smile again.


End file.
